


The Nightingale Chronicles #3: Lies

by Losille



Series: The Nightingale Chronicles [3]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Gen, Scotland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 18:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4715330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Losille/pseuds/Losille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While spending Christmas in Scotland with his family, Tom invites a complete stranger to spend the holiday with them. </p><p>Prompt #3/100: Mena meets the family.</p><p>***This is a part of a 100 prompt drabble challenge. Each update will be published as its own oneshot, though several of them will be written together for story arcs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nightingale Chronicles #3: Lies

**Lies**

Mena stuck the heavy silver fork in her mouth and swallowed the small bite of buttery potato on the tines. Shifting her gaze toward the head of the long table and landing on the gray-haired man sitting pride of place, she found him staring at her from under a partial frown.  

She reached for the glass of water in front of her setting—the setting an honest-to-god butler had placed there in a hurry when he found out there would be one more dinner—and lifted the expensive crystal to her lips. 

Never in her entire life had she felt more awkward.  Usually she liked meeting new people and winning them over with her charming personality. She was a performer by nature. It’s just what she did. But these people seemed completely immune to her attempts at friendliness, clearly cognizant of Tom’s own penchant for a similar song and dance.

His family was _not_ , in fact, thrilled with the notion of sharing their holiday with a woman they knew nothing about—not least of all a woman who looked like a pigeon-feeding bag lady from Central Park. They didn’t specifically say she wasn’t welcome, though. Good Samaritantism dictated they didn’t.  Most plastered on smiles and simply explained how the cottage road was impassible in the blizzard… so she’d actually have to stay in the main house. Others ignored her. The uneasy tension which followed them to the dining room, however, was enough of a tell to read their true thoughts on her intrusion.

If only they’d given her time to clean up, then they’d have seen she wasn’t actually some poorly dressed psycho taking advantage of their son’s good nature. But she had no time to prove herself—or try to make herself more presentable—before they rushed to dinner. And the silence as they sat around the table and served their food didn’t allow her the opportunity to assuage their worries with conversation. It didn’t feel as though it were her place to start a conversation.

Mena replaced the glass and picked up her fork again, this time trying a bit of the succulent roasted venison.  As she chewed on the gamey meat, she lifted her gaze to the man sitting across from her. Tom inelegantly stuffed half a boiled potato into his mouth and smiled around it. She was unable to hold back a giggle.

Which turned into a cough when she felt all the judging eyes in the room turn to them as though her cell phone went off in the middle of a movie theater. Tom’s father straightened his back further and set his knife and fork down on the plate in front of him. “So, Philomena—”

“Mena, please,” she corrected.

Lips pursed, he cleared his throat. “ _Mena_ , where are you from?”

Okay, it was innocuous enough. “I grew up in Montana, but I live in Manhattan now.”

“Oh,” he said. “And what do you do in Manhattan?”

Mena dabbed her mouth with a napkin and sat back in her seat. “A little of everything.”

Silent stares met her short answer. Tom’s mother, Diana, seemed mostly amused at the situation. She had been the most welcoming of them all, but it still wasn’t with completely open arms.

“It’s Manhattan,” she replied. “I have to do a little of everything just to afford to live there.”

More silent stares.  Of course they wouldn’t understand. Not living in a place like this.

“What is ‘everything’?” Diana asked.

“I’m a performer,” Mena replied. “Singing. Dancing. I’ve danced all my life. So I’ve done some Broadway shows, but the way things are, it’s unsteady work because you never know when a show will close. So I supplement with teaching dance. And I also have my cosmetology license, so I do makeup and hair, sometimes also for theater productions. It depends. I’ll do anything.”

It seemed like a enough without explaining everything about her true calling in the cabaret scene. _That_ particular revelation would certainly go over like a lead balloon. But it wasn’t exactly a lie to not tell them what she did most nights.

James pursed his lips again, looking at her as though she were a blight on his house. “That’s all?”

“Isn’t it enough?” Mena asked.

“Why would you take the insecurity of that work when you could do something worthwhile with your time?” he asked.

“Da!” Tom shouted. “Need I remind you that you have two other actors sitting at the table—”

Tom’s sister, Emma, fidgeted in her seat. “No. Nope! Don’t bring me into this.”

“I hold a master’s degree in public history, sir,” Mena interrupted. She stared at him until he registered the idea. “I’m not some flighty airhead. I _could_ find a steady job at a museum somewhere, if I wanted. But I like being on stage. I like the energy. I love being creative and using my body to tell a story.”

 _And the exhibitionist side of me likes taking my clothes off for other people_ , she mused.

James’ contrite expression was enough for her, even though it didn’t last very long. He made a slight harrumphing sound, not unlike the “Scottish sound” described in the _Outlander_ books. Apparently there was more to the fiction than met the eye.

Mena glanced across at Tom, but he was staring at his father with murder in his eyes. Okay, maybe not murder. More like mild contempt.

“Thomas,” James finally said, returning to his meal. “Did you know Olivia was just promoted to chief researcher?”

Mena looked at the beautiful red-haired woman sitting beside Tom, the one who had been introduced as Lillian’s daughter, Olivia. It was also abundantly apparent that their seats together were carefully planned, either by James and Lillian or at Olivia’s request. Olivia had no problem with the conquest.

“Oh?” Tom asked. “Congrats. You had mentioned it at Da’s birthday in October.”

Olivia practically glowed. She touched Tom’s arm and squeezed slightly. Tom merely afforded her a small smile.

“Thank you, Tom.”

“She’ll be running the company before you know it!” James said.

Mena paid attention to her meal, though the not-so-subtle dig at her own seeming failure made bile rise in her throat. She didn’t care what was going on there. She had no design on Tom. If Olivia wanted him, she could have him. But did pointing out Olivia’s apparently great qualities have to come at the expense belittling another’s choices?

God, it was just like her family back home.

Fortunately, the conversation turned to another subject about Olivia’s job within her company, where it seemed James had only recently retired from as the CEO. While they talked shop, Mena quickly inhaled the rest of the delicious meal. She had no idea when they were going to ambush her with questions again, but she planned to have a full belly when it happened.

The conversation eventually circled back just as the after dinner drinks were served. This time, it was Diana who came with the questions. But she wasn’t nearly as critical as her ex-husband.

“Don’t you have family to spend the holiday with, love?” she asked, sipping her tea.

Mena shifted in her seat and shook her head. “Well, I do, but I was asked to perform over here earlier in the month and I decided to extend my trip and turn it into a tour.”

“But what are you touring?”

“I’m singing,” Mena replied. _Sorta_. It wasn’t a complete lie. She did sing a few numbers for certain bookings. Others only wanted the burlesque act. “The owner of The Bloom Room saw me perform back home and invited me to come to London to work for a few weekends, but to make it worthwhile, I promoted myself to other clubs and booked with them on other nights. So if it all works out, the whole trip is paid for and I get my name out there.”

“Ah,” Diana said. “I’d love to hear you sing. Do you have any other engagements before you go home?”

Mena nodded. “There are a few. I’ll write them down for you—and if you can make it to any of them, you’ll have to give me a call so I can make sure you’re on the VIP list.”

Diana laughed and waved her hand. “Oh, dear, I don’t need any special treatment.”

“Of course you do.” Mena looked around at people watching her. “Speaking of which… I can’t tell you how appreciative I am of you taking me in for the next few days. I really am. If there’s anything I can do to help out around here, just let me know.”

Tom’s sisters seemed pleased with this pronouncement. As did his eldest sister’s husband, Rajan, who had stayed conspicuously out of the conversations all night. Actually, both of them had. It had been the James, Lillian and Olivia show, mostly.

When the dinner party finally broke up, Mena quickly convinced Tom to show her to her room.  She wanted to sleep for years after the hell of the last few days and, frankly, couldn’t face any more of the third degree.  She’d told enough half-truths and lies to last her for a few days. He didn’t hesitate and showed her up a winding staircase that led down a dark, Gothic themed hallway to the furthermost door.

“I’m sorry Da put you all the way down here,” he said as they stopped in front of the room.

Mena chuckled and shook her head. “It’s okay, Tom. I’m just thankful to have a bed and heat. I can’t really ask for more.”

Tom bit his lower lip and shook his head. “He was completely ridiculous at dinner, too. He’s always had a problem that I decided to go into acting… and he always brings it up at family dinners one way or another.”

“Well, it _is_ ridiculous that he’d be worried about a star like you,” Mena replied and stepped into the room.   A small fireplace glowed orange with dancing flames, illuminating a cozy space full of dark wood accents. Hunter green bedclothes decorated the turned-down bed. It looked so inviting. “I mean, you’re not exactly begging for jobs.”

“No,” Tom said. “But they could be snatched away at any time, besides the fact that it’s not on his list of appropriate jobs for a man to make something of himself.”

She giggled. “I’m sorry he’s like that. I know how it is. My family is the same way.”

 _Sorta._ They’d certainly be happier if she stuck with the dancing in a socially acceptable format—like theater or ballet or ballroom.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm.” She yawned into her hand and stepped over to the fire. “It probably doesn’t mean much coming from me, but I think you’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing. You have a gift. And it should be shared.”

Mena looked up at him as he stopped beside her. God, he was beautiful. She’d seen the movies and the magazine articles. It was impossible to avoid posts about him on the various social media she used to promote herself. Never had she found digital Tom unattractive, but there was something different about him standing beside her. Something that made him more beautiful. He was real. Solid. Chiseled out of marble like Michelangelo’s _David_. Perfection in masculine form. Boyish in his charm, yet completely sure of himself. His goofy smile was almost bashful in the warm firelight, as though he didn’t hear compliments enough.

He stared at her for a long minute until finally he blinked and shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “So, yeah, the bathroom is over there.”

She tore her gaze away from him and looked at the closed door across the room.

“All the modern amenities,” he replied. “If you need anything, you can just pick up the phone and dial #32. It’s the maid.”

Mena nodded.

Tom grinned again as he fidgeted about like a ball of nervous energy. “And, if for any reason you need me, I’m all the way down on the other side of the hall. You know the stairs we came up? Turn right instead of left. My door has a giant fir tree decoration on it. My niece plastered it there this morning.”

She giggled. “When will I get to meet them? Your niece and nephew, I mean?”

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll be around tomorrow. Da likes them contained in the nursery, except for Christmas Eve and Day.”

“He’s very old fashioned, isn’t he?”

Tom’s look of resignation was enough of an answer.

Mena smiled. “I’ll just have to work extra hard to win him over.”

“I’m his own son, and as you can see, it’s not worked out too well for me,” he said. “But you’re more than welcome to try. I’ll sit on the sidelines and watch.”

“We’ll see,” she said.

He cleared his throat, amusement etching his features as he stared at her again and fell silent. Once more, he blinked away his enthralled attention. “So, yeah, I’m going to go.”

She followed him to the door to see him out.  When he crossed the threshold, he turned in his spot.

“Sleep well.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” Mena replied. “But I’ll be up way early because I went to bed early.”

He chuckled and turned, taking two more steps.  He stopped again. Turned. “Have you ever been horseback riding in the snow?”

Confused by the question, she burst out in laughter. “How did you know I grew up on a ranch and regularly rode horses in the snow?”

“Have you done it in the Scottish Highlands?”

“No, can’t say that I have.”

“Then we’ll go in the morning,” he said. “Early… and if the weather breaks for a bit.”

Mena chuckled. “You know I hate to be cold.”

Tom waved his hands. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“I didn’t say it wouldn’t be worth it. Just that I hate being cold.”

A wide smile spread his lips. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Tom.”  She shut the door and paused just before closing it. “And thank you.”

Her last view was of the handsome man walking in the other direction, shaking his head at something only he understood.  She shut the door and locked it before taking a running leap into the four poster bed.  The last thought on her mind was that she hoped this place wasn’t haunted like every other Scottish castle.  She could deal with a lot. Freezing cold. Lumpy mattresses. Attractive men saving her from sure frostbite.

But things that went bump in the night? Now that was another story entirely.


End file.
